


Severing

by frau_kali



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Codependency, Future Fic, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Last Kiss, Last meeting, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Series, Sad Ending, Tumblr Prompt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_kali/pseuds/frau_kali
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I thought for even one <i>moment</i> that you could be convinced to end this, to let go of it, then I would spend the rest of my days with you. But I know you won’t, you can’t, and if you swore to me otherwise it would be a lie."</p><p>A few months after it's all over, Silver returns to Nassau's interior to collect a few things from the house he and Flint sometimes shared and  they meet again one last time.</p><p>(Written for a Tumblr prompt - "love confessions." Set between a possible end for the series and the events of Treasure Island.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Severing

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... first off, I am so sorry about this. I don't think the anon who prompted me for a SilverFlint love confessions fic wanted anything quite so sad as this fic. However this is where my brain took me, particularly after watching 306 yesterday, but I do apologize!
> 
> Anyway, the unhealthy nature of Silver and Flint's relationship is examined a bunch in this fic, though it's mostly the headcanon that I have about it that exists because of those interviews with Toby and the writers. 306 kind of had me modify it a little bit, but I'm still hoping they might take it somewhere similar to this.
> 
> Oh, also, the house in this fic that they shared is the same one referenced in my other (much happier) fic. It's not the one where Miranda lived, in case anyone wondered.
> 
> Hope you guys... um... enjoy this angstfest? xD

When he moved into the bedroom, setting the candle on the table by the door, John Silver finally allowed himself to consider that maybe, just maybe, Madi had been right. He shouldn’t have come back here, not even to collect the mementos that remained, the books that had been gifted to him. The memories of this place, the ones that had been pulled from the depths of his mind the second he set foot here, were too strong. And yet he couldn’t help himself, he needed some small reminders of this thing he’d destroyed to save both of them. 

The guilt of it was still fresh, too, but he steeled himself against it, inwardly repeating the words he’d said to Eleanor Guthrie years ago - _Guilt is natural. It also goes away, if you let it._ He could only imagine now how disappointed his younger self would be, to see how far he’d fallen, how attached to others he had become, how much he had--

“You came back,” a soft, rough voice spoke from the shadowy corner of the room. At once Silver turned, knowing exactly who it was, drawing his flintlock with a lightning quickness he’d gained from years of practice. His aim, though, that was something the man sitting before him had taught him, one of many things.

He swayed slightly, his left hand gripping at his crutch in case he needed to move quickly. “How long have you been here?” He ventured carefully.

“Three days,” James Flint replied, his words slurring ever so slightly. “I was just reminiscing, thinking about the first morning you and I spent here, a few weeks after we took the island back... Do you remember that?”

He tried not to allow his mind to follow Flint down that path, into those memories, though it was hard to keep them from coming up to his mind’s eye – all the planning they’d done in bed, always in between such vigorous rounds of sex. They’d both been so starved for each other’s touch, and the opportunities that their first time away from the ship and the crew brought. He remembered how James had laughed then, how the light in his eyes banished that darkness that Silver had once thought to be all consuming.

He shoved the images away forcefully. It was over, they were done, he wouldn’t be drawn in again by such reminders.

“Yes,” he replied, summoning up every ounce of his considerable skill to keep his voice steady. He moved forward, his crutch tapping against the floor while his eyes adjusted enough to the darkness, allowing him a better look at his former captain.

“I was wondering how that man, the John Silver I knew, could’ve thrown away everything he helped me create here, how he could’ve given up when he used to say there was always a way out...” Flint was slouched in the corner chair, his shoulders slumped, a bottle of rum clasped in his right hand. Silver could just make out the hurt in his face, though he didn’t need to because it was all there in his voice.

He didn’t reply, either. He would not have that argument again, nor would he see his actions as a betrayal, despite the guilt he felt. What he’d done had been done mainly out of concern, out of something deeper than that. And even Flint didn’t know the full extent of those actions, nor would Silver be telling him, not like this. He still, after all these years, wanted to live, after all.

“Why did you come here?” Flint spoke again in the face of Silver’s silence, his voice twisting in disgust when he added: “I know you took a pardon.”

“I wanted some of my things,” Silver said, once more ignoring Flint’s further attempts to pull him into a war of words. “A better question is why _you’re_ here? You know there is a bounty on your head, that Spain wants the last part of the gold you took.” The six men Flint had taken with him to hide said gold did not return, another thing that made what Silver had done easier.

“Maybe I came to kill the last person I trusted in the world for betraying me,” Flint said, though his words lacked the bite to be at all threatening. Instead he just sounded sad.

Nevertheless, that wasn’t enough for Silver to let his guard down, not for an instant. “Considering your current state, I doubt you could even stand much less draw your pistol before I shot you.” Not that he would, of course, he didn’t have it in him. But Silver was not sure of Flint at the moment.

The former captain set the bottle on the floor, and Silver just knew it was empty. “You think I could really kill you, John?” Flint asked, looking hurt at the mere suggestion.

Silver didn’t know what to say to that, which was quite a lot considering he usually always had something to say, even when he kept it to himself, but if anyone could surprise him into silence, it was Flint. He knew the man, yes, knew his mind and the depths of it, had come to see who he was underneath the mask.... But even so, Flint did not forgive, not when the person he trusted most turned the whole crew against him in a mutiny.

“I suppose I...” Flint began again, putting a hand on the arm of the chair so he could slowly stand. Silver cocked the pistol in his hand, his aim steady. Maybe Flint _was_ too drunk to get to his weapon in time, but Silver would be damned if he was ever going to underestimate the man. “I miss you.”

Silver stared at him, trying to hide his surprise and probably failing. He couldn’t wear masks all the time, and he most certainly couldn’t do it now. When he’d turned against Flint, even if it was to save him, it had felt like he’d shoved a dagger into his own heart and cut out a piece of himself. The way Flint had looked at him with such rage, hurt, and even fear when he’d turned the crew, that had only made the pain of it all the more acute. It hurt more than his leg ever did, and now he felt it again.

Flint stopped before him now, swaying slightly, his hands spread at his side to show he meant no harm. The yellow candlelight danced upon his face, showing Silver just how much older he looked, the lines on his face more evident than ever before, as if he’d aged years in these last few months. He wore no mask now, either, the desperation, the fear, the hurt he felt all plain on his face. At once Silver recognized it, understood it and all the things it said that Flint would not speak aloud: _I need you, I don’t want to be alone, I--_

“I love you, John,” Flint whispered, his voice shaking, his gaze holding his former partner’s.

“What?” Silver spoke before he could stop himself, the words and the weight of them like someone had twisted the knife in his heart.

Flint smiled sadly, shaking his head. “You always liked to say you could see me, did you really not see that? Would it have even made a difference if I’d said it all those months ago?”

“No,” Silver admitted softly, “it wouldn’t have. Because I did see it, I only never expected to hear you say it.” And nor had he been terribly bothered by that, he could understand why Flint wouldn’t want to say it after what had happened to him in the past. It wasn’t like Silver had said it either, even though he knew Flint must’ve seen it was mutual.

He did not say now, much as the words stood on the tip of his tongue for a few seconds before he shoved them down. If he said it, if he declared _I love you_ , then he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from diving right back into the depths of Flint’s ocean, being consumed by them, swallowed whole and never emerging again.

He both hated and feared how much he _wanted_ that, right along with how sorely tempted he was to lower the pistol so Flint could close the distance between them.

Would he ever be free of this pull, this intoxication, he wondered, would he ever truly want to be?

“I want you to stay,” Flint said, holding up a hand, his fingers not so far from brushing over Silver’s left hand. “I don’t care what you did, I want you to stay with me. We can fix it, there’s still a chance, England hasn’t fully consolo--”

“Stop!” Silver said at once. He’d known this was coming, had not dared to hope otherwise. “All you want is to go back on the account, for me to go with you.” His voice cracked now, as he continued: “If I thought for even one _moment_ that you could be convinced to end this, to let go of it, then I would spend the rest of my days with you. But I know you won’t, you can’t, and if you swore to me otherwise it would be a lie.

“I will not go back to that life with you, if I do it will only see the end of us both.” He had explained the rest of his reasons to Flint already, he would not do it again. He would not go into how he regretted not seeing sooner that he should’ve been trying to find a way to get Flint to stop, a way to bring him some peace that wasn’t short term, a way to help him heal those old festering wounds of his instead of aiding him in his vendetta, encouraging him and building him up.

Silver had been so caught up in it; the joy of belonging, being part of a crew, mattering to other people, and the utter bliss of standing at James’ side, of being loved by him and loving in return, being consumed by those feelings and by Flint’s need. He had seen the danger in the beginning, but the layers he peeled away, the more he came to understand James, the more he had allowed his fears to recede.

He’d come to believe in all the things he and Flint could accomplish together, had even taken pride in the fear they would strike into the hearts of anyone who dared oppose them. They had made such a formidable, dangerous team, the two of them better together than they’d ever thought possible. And they had been happy, too. Even Flint had been happy, though Silver now knew it was only a semblance of the happiness he could’ve had if he’d found real peace.

Even so, Silver missed it, despite knowing what it would do to him. He missed the allure, missed being quartermaster, missed the men, all of it. God, he even missed the sea a little. But most of all he missed the man who stood so close to him now, only the pistol between them, and the warmth he would feel if they came together, the affection Flint offered him and the sheer weight of it.

Once more he hated that he missed it all _so much_.

“Alright,” Flint said softly, swaying again. “Alright.” He swallowed, then added: “If you won’t do that, then perhaps...” He placed his palm on the pistol, on the hand that held it and Silver shivered at the sudden touch. Flint’s hands were cold, but it didn’t matter because it had been _months_ since they touched.

He probably should’ve realized his mistake in hindsight, shouldn’t have let Flint get so close to him, but it was too late for that now, too late to stop Flint from shoving his right arm aside and stepping right up close to him to claim his mouth in s deep, desperate kiss that pulled groans out of both of them, that had Silver returning it at once, like a man starved. Flint’s other hand was in his hair in an instant, fingers running through the curls, pulling them free of his queue, the touch surprisingly gentle.

They both pulled away after a few moments, breathing hard. Flint’s smile was sad as he said: “I want to stay with you tonight, if you’ll have me, if I can have you.”

This was a terrible idea. Silver knew exactly what Flint was doing, too, thinking he wouldn’t be able to leave if they did this, that it would be too painful for him. There was a good chance it would be.

And yet he still uncocked the pistol and laid it on the table next to the candle, his hand moving to slide up Flint’s back, pressing into the fabric of his coat. “Yes,” he said, breathless with need for this man.

Something like relief washed over Flint’s expression before being replaced with a need that mirrored Silver’s. Once more Flint descended and this time Silver opened his lips to admit him, pulling Flint right up against him, basking in the sudden warmth of their bodies pressed together, their shared arousal as the kiss turned heated.

It didn’t take long at all for Flint to pull Silver’s crutch from his grasp, lean it against the table and take his former quartermaster into the bed with him. For just one night John Silver allowed himself to pretend things were different, that Flint had agreed to stop, to fully become James, that they would spend the rest of their days in a house like this one in some place that no one knew they had once been a feared pirate captain and quartermaster.

The illusion vanished with the sunrise the following day, when he woke naked and with James curled up against him, every part of him full of a glorious ache from all the things they’d done the night before.

He did not let himself bask in it, knew the danger of doing so. He held tightly to his reason, carefully untangling himself and getting out of bed, bringing his crutch to bear. James did not wake the whole time he dressed, as quietly as he was able. Silver was glad of it, he didn’t want to risk that he might succumb to the man’s pull if he was still here when Flint awoke, if he allowed himself to be caught up in anything resembling even one of the myriad of morning after memories he had.

Once he was dressed, he took a moment to write a letter to his now former lover and friend. It was his last, terrible gift to James Flint – a sure and true reason to hate him. He thought it the best way to free James of some of his sorrow, by letting him hate Silver instead of miss him. Even though Silver knew the two were not mutually exclusive, he told himself otherwise to assuage his guilt.

In the letter he confessed the full scale of his involvement in the English retaking Nassau, told of how he’d made a deal with them in exchange for pardons for himself and the crew, for Madi and what remained of her people, as well as those he’d sold out to do it. He explained he’d done it all to avoid a war that would’ve swallowed them whole, that he’d even gone out of his way to buy Flint time to escape since Silver knew there was no way Flint would ever take a pardon. He’d been responsible for the final voyage of the _Walrus_ , too, all to get Flint far away from Nassau when the English arrived.

At the end he wrote: _I know you will hate me for this, it may be better that way. I only did it out of concern for you, to save you and our crew from death. I do love you, James, though I’m certain you know that. I would have stayed with you and helped you find peace if you had let me, but I know you are too far beyond that now, and I’m sorry for the part I played in it._ He signed his name, too, before leaving the letter on the bedside table.

In hindsight he wished he’d said his _I love you_ aloud, like James had done, instead of putting it in that damn letter.

Hours after his departure from Nassau’s interior he and Madi were on their way to England with the money they’d saved, the books Silver had taken from the house he once shared with James, and their pardons, travelling under false names. Flint would never find either of them. And Silver knew then that he would never see the man whose pull he still felt ever again. He told himself it was better that way.

Years later, when he learned Flint had died of drink in Savannah—it had taken an ocean to separate them—Silver should’ve been free of that pull, but he wasn’t, not really. In death Flint haunted him anew, making him regret that he hadn’t found a way to save James, that he hadn’t done it all differently.

_Fin._


End file.
